Born in the same year, same month, same day, same delivery room, only thirty-six minutes apart.
My name is Zhili and her name is Shuolun. From the moment I grabbed her finger across everything, they were destined to be entangled with her for the rest of their lives. She taught me how to identify my heartbeat, established my perspective, wiped my tears with a neatly folded handkerchief, and fixed my sixteen-year-old ring finger with a ring made of dog tail grass.
Concept: Shuo Lun is dead and Zhi Li is alive, but the rest of her life is trapped by rings and locked by a list until she is seventy years old.